Les Miserables

an hour's walk from the town, far from any hamlet
or road, in a secluded ravine of a very wild valley. It was said he
had a sort of resting-place there, a hole, a den. He had no neighbours
or even passers-by. Since he had lived there the path which fed to the
place had become overgrown, and people spoke of it as of the house
of a hangman.
From time to time, however, the bishop reflectingly gazed upon the
horizon at the spot where a clump of trees indicated the ravine of the
aged conventionist, and he would say: "There lives a soul which is
alone." And in the depths of his thought he would add "I owe him a
visit."
But this idea, we must confess, though it appeared natural at first,
yet, after a few moments reflection, seemed strange, impracticable,
and almost repulsive. For at heart he shared the general impression,
and the conventionist inspired him, he knew not how, with that
sentiment which is the fringe of hatred, and which the word "aversion"
so well expresses.
However, the shepherd should not recoil from the diseased sheep. Ah!
but what a sheep!
The good bishop was perplexed: sometimes he walked in that
direction, but he returned.
{FANTINE|BOOK_1ST|X ^paragraph 10}
At last, one day the news was circulated in the town that the
young herdsboy who served the conventionist G__ in his retreat, had
come for a doctor; that the old wretch was dying, that he was
motionless, and could not live through the night. "Thank God!" added
many.
The bishop took his cane, put on his overcoat, because his cassock
was badly worn, as we have said, and besides the night wind was
evidently rising, and set out.
The sun was setting; it had nearly touched the horizon when the
bishop reached the accursed spot. He felt a certain quickening of
the pulse as he drew near the den. He jumped over a ditch, cleared a
hedge, made his way through a brush fence, found himself in a
dilapidated garden, and after a bold advance across the open ground,
suddenly, behind some high brushwood, he discovered the retreat.
It was a low, poverty-stricken hut, small and clean, with a little
vine nailed up in front.
Before the door in an old chair on rollers, there sat a man with
white hair, looking with smiling gaze upon the setting sun.
{FANTINE|BOOK_1ST|X ^paragraph 15}
The young herdsboy stood near him, handing him a bowl of milk.
While the bishop was looking, the old man raised his voice.
"Thank you," he said, "I shall need nothing more;" and his smile
changed from the sun to rest upon the boy.
The bishop stepped forward. At the sound of his footsteps the old
man turned his head, and his face expressed as much surprise as one
can feel after a long life.
"This is the first time since I have lived here," said he, "that I
have had a visitor. Who are